A Traditional Iconoclast
by chemicalflashes
Summary: No, he didn't regret it at all. [DM/HG; ONESHOT]


_A/N: Every author deserves to write fluff once in a while._

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 **A Traditional Iconoclast**

The hallways were very silent after the noise of the eventful day. Harry had just completed the first task that morning and the day's excitement was taking a toll on her. She was feeling utterly tired as she stood near the edge of the Black Lake.

The wind blew away her hair as she thought about the incoming Yule Ball. McGonagall had just told the Gryffindors that a dance would be organised in about two weeks. She had also learnt that they would be receiving lessons for it too. Her head felt woozy at the thought of that. And why wouldn't it have felt woozy? She didn't know anything about rhythm, let alone dancing.

The same wind that was blowing her hair in every direction possible was also making small waves in the placid waters of the lake and she watched, fascinated as the little waves rose and broke in perfect rhythm, perfect coordination. Inspiration stuck her. Looking around for any unwelcomed prying eyes, she waved her wand in a gentle swirling pattern.

"Musicalis!"

A beautiful waltz began playing around her. It was the same music her parents had danced to at their sixteenth anniversary. She couldn't believe she had succeeded in executing the spell because it was considered to be at the same level as the tricky Patronus Charm. She lifted her right arm shyly, pretending that a really handsome and not to mention, fictitious boy was standing there and waiting for her to take the first step.

She put forward her left leg and then her right one, trying to find a rhythm with the music. It was tough and after some ten or twenty attempts, she gave up and sat on the ground, thinking that she better wait for McGonagall to teach. But she really didn't want to embarrass herself at the lesson. With this thought in mind she stood up with renewed determination and began practicing again.

She didn't look behind. So it was impossible for her to see that a certain boy was coming up to her. Suddenly she felt hands on her waist as someone gripped her from behind and continued dancing, in perfect rhythm with the flowing music. She smiled. For some small fleeting few moments she thought it was Harry, Fred, George or even Ron but then she heard a drawling voice say–

"Didn't know that I would see the day when the Hermione Granger would be imperfect at anything. Anything except looking good."

She could practically hear the smirk in that well-recognised drawl. She immediately removed his hands from her waist. The music didn't feel gentle or soothing anymore. In fact, it felt quite hostile and unnerving. She turned around to face the biggest bighead of all times. "What do you want Malfoy?"

"Me? Nothing at all. I was merely perusing the entirely of the school grounds when I stumbled across a fellow classmate about to make a fool of herself at the future dance lessons and the yule ball and out of the goodness of my heart, I decided to educate her on the subject of rhythm and dance."

"I very well know about the amount of goodness in your heart." She poked a finger in his ribs, right on his sternum. "It happens to be zero."

"You can never be sure."

"What do you really want Malfoy? I know you don't do anything freely."

He peered into her brown eyes. What did he really want? he thought. He needed a place to be away from Pansy, Crabbe and Goyle... Yep, that was it. "If you really want to know Granger, it's just that Parkinson was eating up my mind and so I excused myself to come for peace here, only to see you...prancing about." He had been about to say 'dancing about'. But that could have been counted as a compliment and the last thing he wanted to do was compliment Granger.

"Oh..." was all that she could say. "But I thought you and Parkinson were a couple or something. The way she mushes and gushes over you is a clear indication of that fact.

"You see, it's she. Not me."

"Okay." she said, quite unconvinced and waved her wand about.

"Nox." The beautiful music stopped. She started to walk away slowly, her hair bobbing to and fro as she did so.

"Where are you going?"

"You said you wanted to spend some time away from Parkinson and I am sure I am even more worse company than her, seeing as to the fact that you get ruffled up when she fawns over you. So imagine what would happen if I stay because I surely not fawn over you. Besides I am not in the mood to banter. Too tired for that nonsense right now." She waved a hand over her head.

"Who told you to go?"

Certainly not you, she remarked inwardly to herself as she came to a halt. "I would prefer you any day above no company or Parkinson's diseased charm." She processed the words over and again in her head. While she was lost in those disturbing words, he had muttered the incantation for the music. This time a different tune broke out.

"What are you waiting for? Come on!" he said half-irritated and half-amused.

"Uhh..."

He hurriedly took her hand and lead her to a clearing between some trees. The music followed them. He gently clasped her waist as they began waltzing to the tune. "Are you sure about this Malfoy?" He merely nodded. "This isn't a good idea, is it? You a bigoted pureblood and me a filthy mud–"

"Ssshhh... Don't say that word." he said as he brought up his index finger on her lips to shut her up. She shuddered at the contact and promptly became silent. He shuddered too; although it was for an entirely different reason. He tore his finger away at the speed of light. He hadn't expected her lips to be that soft. He still couldn't comprehend why he had stopped her from speaking 'mudblood'.

His eyes wandered over the still waters of the lake, the cloudless skies, the wintry trees, the bare land; anywhere except her sparkling brown eyes. What had he got himself in? Who was he? he thought. Certainly not a 'bigoted pureblood' as Granger had put it; otherwise he wouldn't have touched her, let alone dance with her. But he was not a blood-traitor either. A little dance couldn't hurt his status, could it?

Yes, he was traditional– he still believed in the notion that purebloods were better than muggle-borns. But now he had broken traditions by not interacting in a hateful way with a muggle-born, namely Granger. But he wasn't being iconoclastic because he wasn't openly going against the ideals of his family or speaking bad about them.

So, what was he? Not a traditionalist. Not an iconoclast.

Yes.

A traditional iconoclast.

Someone who broke tradition while being traditional. Someone who rebelled quietly.

She watched him as he looked somewhere far behind her with a distant and thoughtful look in his grey eyes. "Malfoy?" she was too lost to notice her address to him. "Draco?"

"Ahh... Yes, Granger?" He looked highly disoriented. His pupils were slightly dilated. Perhaps he had been thinking too deeply she thought.

"If I remember correctly, you had said that you were going to teach me ballroom dancing in your extremely coded language?" His hold on her tightened a little; just a little. "Follow me." And she followed him perfectly, each step just a shadow of his own. Soon they were dancing as if they had been born to do that. "You're a fast learner Granger." he said as they swayed to the stretch of a cello. She smiled, a little.

"Why are you doing this Malfoy?"

Even I don't know myself he thought. "Didn't I just tell you that I kind of figured out that teaching you the logics of rhythm was far better than roaming around with Pansy as an arm candy." She glared at him, trying to determine the extent of honesty in his statement. In doing that she accidentally pressed his foot. "Ouch! Granger the moment I compliment you, you decide to cause a mistake? That's so sad." he drawled and now, he glared at her.

Suddenly she came to realise the proximity of their faces and hurriedly pulled herself away. Her cheeks were the lightest shade of red.

"I think I have had enough of dancing for one evening." she said as she pushed herself away from his loose but firm grasp. For a moment it seemed as if he had been lost but then he quickly regained his composure. "Very well Granger." He switched off the beautiful tune.

She hesitatingly began, "Do you mind doing this again tomorrow?"

"And may I ask why?"

"I... I can actually believe that I am saying this but– but I'll have to admit that you're a good teacher."

He smirked. "Hmmm... Let's see? The so called brightest witch of our year wants my help." He stopped speaking. She looked at him with eyes full of anticipation. He looked back at her. "Okay I'll do it. No need to get sentimental or something."

"Who's getting sentimental?" she scoffed.

"Obviously, you aren't." he murmured.

But she didn't hear him. "So tomorrow, here at the same time?"

"Yes"

As she walked away, he could see the bobbing of her bushy hair due to the pace of her gait. He keenly observed the rhythm of her thin but shapely legs and the sway of her lean arms.

He couldn't help but agree, that he was rather liking being a traditional iconoclast.

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 _Some twelve years later..._

"Ow! Malfoy! You still haven't learnt anything. How bad." he said as she stepped on his toes. His wife glared at him and he couldn't help but think that she looked really cute when she was flustered. He smirked his devilish smirk.

"Shut up you git. I would dance with Scorp." she said and broke free from his embrace and snooped down to pick up the little blond haired boy standing beside them, who gladly excepted his mother's hug with a joyful cry of, "Mommy!"

"Bad daddy. Always scrutinizing me" Hermione said to Scorpius in her soft voice as she swayed them to the music floating around them and Draco had never seen a more beautiful sight. His son and wife were too perfect to be true and he couldn't believe his luck.

Yes, they were poor. Yes, he had been disowned for marrying her.

No, he didn't regret it.

No, he didn't regret being an iconoclast at all.

-end-


End file.
